Chuck vs Taking it Easy
by Greg6419
Summary: I've always loved the imagery in this classic song from the Eagles , and thought it would make a good, quick Chuck and Sarah story. Let me know what you think, I got some great feedback from a previous piece. As usual, I don't own Chuck (or the Eagles)...
1. Chapter 1

The sun was still the ancient enemy here in Arizona in more ways than one, he thought as he stood looking up and down the street, squinting in the glare of a brilliant noonday sun. He was two doorways down from the entrance of the bus station. Stripped of its former glory, the station stood bled white by the sun, all vestiges of pride long since left behind by progress, or what passed for progress in this forgotten stretch of the famed Route 66. He shielded his eyes and peered up and down 3rd St, not sure what he was looking for, but positive he wasn't seeing it.

Letting the duffel slip from surprisingly broad shoulders on such a lanky frame, he began to think about what was next. He wanted to call Ellie, but that would only lead to trouble, mostly for her, but for him as well. She wouldn't let him just dance around what was happening, and he wasn't sure how to answer her questions. He hadn't seen "the big guy" in a couple of days, but that didn't mean he was gone. Hopefully the last switchback in New Mexico had shaken him, but it didn't pay to assume. Much more of "cop-face" and he would be seeing that square jaw and pissed off look in his dreams.

Squatting on his heels, the dusty black All-Stars he wore on his feet seemed oddly out of place in this anachronistic old mining town. Glancing at the well-thumbed bus schedule he had picked up a few days ago, he saw today was only the second day in the three day cycle that the bus kept. He had to decide whether to wait until tomorrow for the bus, or come up with plan B. Plan B probably meant using the monster that had been dropped into his head. He still wasn't sure what it was, or exactly how it worked and he hated relying on it, but at times…

He leaned back against the duffle, watching the unusually calm (for a native Angelino anyway) midday street. Digging a bottle of water out of the bag, he swallowed greedily, realizing he hadn't eaten since the chocolate croissant he had picked up this morning. Casting his mind back to figuring out a plan, he decided to try to catch a ride. There was plenty of traffic over near the interstate, but it just flowed on by this forgotten corner of nowhere. Besides, he wanted (no, needed) to stay away from the main east-west routes where they would probably be looking for him. There were a few cars scattered along the several blocks he could see, and one old truck backed up to the feed store loading dock at the end of the main drag.

Standing up and hoisting up the duffel, he simply started walking. His mind thought back to a road sign he had seen earlier, Arizona 87, heading north toward the high country. Where it took him was anyone's guess, but as he was lacking any better ideas, north it was, for the moment at least. Moving always seemed to work better than sitting still. Sitting made his brain start wandering, and that wasn't always a good thing.

Wandering thoughts inevitably led to why Bryce had done what he had done. He hadn't even seen Bryce in five years. And why had Jill left him for Bryce? For that matter, why had he bailed on Hannah? She had been everything he thought he had wanted, cute, very smart, and very into him. Looking back, it seemed to be going too far too fast, and maybe he had panicked a bit. But then why had he sabotaged what he had going on with Lou? Other than an insane height difference (which was kind of sexy in a very weird way), she had had it all. I mean, she was hot, owned not only her own business, but a DELI, and she was seriously into him too.

There had been too many mistakes in too few years. Sometimes it felt like everything was spiraling away from him entirely too quickly…

"Ahhh, too much thinking gets you in trouble Chuck," he muttered to himself. "Just put one foot in front of the other…"

His long legs ate up the distance quickly, and soon he saw where 3rd St continued on toward the east into the desert, and Hwy 87 turned left, headed north. He had never been to northern Arizona, but the state highway marker triggered a series of images (an old test pattern, an Indian blanket, an abandoned pueblo-style house, a field of flowers) that flashed across his consciousness, and he knew exactly where he was headed. Realizing he had staggered and was leaning against a light pole, he dug in his bag for his water and a bottle of Ibuprofen. Taking a handful of the pain-killers with the last gulp of lukewarm water, he glanced around again, to see if anyone had noticed his "episode". The heavy thud behind his eyes reminded him again of the price of using whatever it was that was parked in his brain.

The feed store and its large dusty parking lot sat almost directly across from the junction he was aiming for. It was the only place in town that seemed to hold any signs of life in the mid-afternoon heat. He glanced over from across the street as he passed, noting several older men, mostly wearing overalls or jeans, with boots and cowboy hats, sitting in the shade of the loading dock overhang. The bell on the door tinkled as another local got out of a faded blue truck and walked into the dark, cool-looking interior of the store. Chuck reached the corner and made his left onto 87 just as the bell over the door tinkled again. He glanced back just in time to see the door of an old black Ford truck chunk shut, bed stacked high with feed sacks, and then heard the dry roar as the healthy sounding V-8 fired to life.

As he walked along, duffel bouncing easily against his side, he wondered again how he knew without a doubt where he was headed. The data upload he had gotten stated that there was a clean safe-house, ready to use, deep in the Navajo reservation. It was a place he knew no one would be looking for him, because only 3 other people in the world knew about it. How did he know that? So many questions, maybe he just wasn't asking the right ones…

He slowed down as he reached a cross street just at the northern edge of town. Glancing to his left to check for any oncoming traffic, he heard the truck from the feed store moving up behind him on his right. Noticing a slight change in the roar of the battered old muffler as the truck approached, he glanced over. The truck slowed as it passed him, and suddenly all he could see was a tangle of wind-swept blond curls, and a dazzling white smile that seemed to be aimed at him. Time seemed to stop for an instant, an instant that could have been an eternity, for Chuck anyway. The spell was broken as the truck accelerated with a roar and a cloud of grayish brown exhaust. Realizing that he was standing slack-jawed, bag hanging askew, he slowly shook the cobwebs from his head and laughed quietly to himself. "That's all you need Chuck, another distraction." In the distance, he watched as the truck turned right and disappeared from sight.

Sighing, he shouldered his bag and set off again. Glancing back for any traffic, he crossed the street, thinking about how much success he would have trying to thumb a ride. It had been quite a few years since Ellie had caught him and Morgan trying to hitchhike down to the beach. That had been a very memorable afternoon, and until the last few days, Chuck hadn't even _thought_ about hitching. Now, it was becoming second nature and he wasn't really sure how he thought about that.

Taking another glance around, looking again for "Cop-Face" (who he was half expecting to be right behind him almost every time he turned around), he began to listen for a car heading north that he could maybe catch a ride with. Still thinking about how mad Ellie had been that afternoon, he almost didn't hear the roar of a truck slowing down as it drove up behind him. Setting a big grin on his face, Chuck turned and started to extend his thumb, intent on charming a farmer into a ride. The grin froze on his face however, and his hand stopped involuntarily, as he recognized the mane of blond hair through the cracked windshield of the truck. He stood there with a goofy look on his face as she rolled to a squeaky stop on the dusty shoulder right beside him.

"Where you headed?" she asked, talking around a hair-tie clenched in her teeth, as she pulled her hair into a quick pony tail, tying it off with a quick flip of a wrist. She stared at him intently, blue eyes under long lashes, a hint of a smile around her generous mouth. ""Hello?" she said, "I asked where you were headed". Her grin widened as he glanced around, not sure that she was talking to him, then managed to stammer, "N-N-North, I'm heading north".

"Well I'm headed north too, need a ride?" she asked, noting the wayward brown curls peeking out from under the blue baseball cap.

He stood, peered around again, then with a quick smile, he reached for the truck door, "Sure, I mean that would be great! Thanks!" Wedging the duffel on the back between some feed sacks, he swung his long legs up into the cab, then turned to her again, his hand out, "Hi, Charles Carmichael, but most people just call me Chuck," he said, managing to sound both confident, and a bit awkward at the same time.

She stared at his hand for an instant, and then meeting his grip with her own, she looked back into what she noticed were very warm, brown eyes with nice smile lines, and replied, "I'm Sarah, it's nice to meet you Chuck."

Sarah said, "There's a couple of bottles of water under your seat there, would you hand me one before we get going?" as she glanced into her side mirror to check traffic before merging back onto the road. "You're more than welcome to one yourself if you're thirsty."

"Thanks, that would be great," he said as he ducked down and felt beneath the seat for the elusive water bottles. Snagging two he started to sit back up just as she pulled back onto the highway. As his eyes came level with the dashboard, he caught a glimpse of a dark blue Crown Victoria, piloted by a large, square-jawed man in a dark suit, blasting into the edge of town. Quickly, he glanced through the back window of the truck, watching for any sign that the Vic was turning around. He watched the brake lights come on momentarily, but then go off again as the driver was just acknowledging the city limits sign he had just passed. Chuck read the name of the town again just as he turned to settle on his half of the truck seat.

"Winslow, Arizona," he thought to himself as he handed Sarah her bottle, "If I never get back here, it'll be too soon."


	2. Chapter 2

The desert stretched out in all directions, broken only by several mesas looming on the horizon, and the road was straight as an arrow. The truck roared and vibrated along the dusty blacktop. He couldn't decide if he was overwhelmed by the beauty of the scenery, by the desolation or just from the overwhelming roar of the truck. For a bona-fide city boy, he had never seen so much of nothing in his entire life…

"So where you headed? Besides north I mean…?" Sarah almost shouted against the steady drone of the almost non-existent muffler. She looked at him a long moment from under incredibly long lashes, then asked, "Could you hand me my sunglasses? On the dash there…"

"Sure," he answered, glad to be able to duck her initial question. His fingertips brushed hers as he handed her the glasses, and he almost jerked his hand back. It seemed as though a pure jolt of clean, warm electricity had arced into his fingertips and it was suddenly much hotter inside the truck than it had been before. He looked back out his side window, away from her startling blue eyes, trying to regain his wits, and hoping she had forgotten her first question.

"So where you heading? I'm heading up toward the Hopi Reservation, but have to stop off first to unload this feed," she said.

She looked across the cab at him, and he looked at her, then anxiously out the windshield, "Well'" he stammered, "I'm just traveling north, maybe over toward Tuba City, maybe the Grand Canyon…I've never seen that." He hoped that would quell her curiosity, but quickly asked, to change the subject, "Do you live around here? I-I mean, well, I guess I mean, do you live around here?" he said. "Not that I'm trying to find out where you live or anything…I mean…"

"Chuck?" she interrupted with a quiet smile on her lips, "It's ok, I DO live around here", she responded. "but where are _you_ from Chuck? What's your story? I don't usually pick up strange guys beside the highway…"she said with a quiet smile.

Chuck looked at her again, her slim yet strong hands holding the steering wheel, the wisps of hair that had escaped the ponytail swirling around her face in the wind. He felt his heart leaping in his chest and was having a hard time forming words.

"Well, I'm, I'm originally from LA, but now I'm just traveling around, you know, just seeing this great country of ours!" he said. "Just seeing the world…" he finished, looking down into his lap, hating that he was lying to her but not sure why it was bothering him so. "I could help you unload the feed, I mean it would be the least I could do for giving me a ride," he said, trying again to distract her line of questioning.

Her smile widened as she glanced over at him, "That would be fantastic! Mr. Nez is at least 90, and while he is very eager, he is also very slow, sooo…" Her smile was magical, "A helping hand would be a lot of help!" she said, her gaze returning to the road ahead.

The trip was quiet for the next few minutes, just the wind and the ever present roar of the truck's muffler. As the rounded a long shallow curve in the road, Chuck began to see a few signs advertising gas and groceries, and soon spotted a collection of low buildings just at the base of a magnificent mesa.

"I told Mr. Nez that since I was going into town, I'd pick up this horse feed for him. He owns the general store out here at the edge of the reservation, and I owe him a few favors."

Chuck turned back toward her and asked, "So what do you do Sarah? I mean there's not a lot of, well, not a lot of anything out here." He looked at her profile, and then as she didn't seem to be watching him, he glanced at what seemed to be _very _long legs wrapped in some _very_ snug Wranglers.

She turned and almost seemed to smile a bit as she caught his gaze wandering, "I'm working on my thesis project over east of here at the Anasazi site," she said taking in his slightly guilty look at getting caught staring. She found herself somewhat taken aback herself at his kind of shy, self-effacing demeanor.

"Wow! Really? " he said, turning back to her, a huge grin lighting up his warm gaze. "Weren't they cannibals? 'Cause I always wanted to meet a cannibal!" he said, almost simultaneously mentally wincing, thinking to himself, "Cannibal? Really Bartowski? What are you thinking?"

"Actually Chuck, there's a very heated debate over that subject, it's become a very contentious point, but besides, it's not really my field of study. My thesis is evaluating the economic and religious significance of the Chaco road system, as it related to the Great North Road of Mesozoic Americans, including all of the trade routes of the ancient Americans." she said, looking at him across the cab. "Plus, Chuck, their culture disappeared almost 1000 years ago, so…" she looked at him, nibbling on her lip to keep from laughing at his obvious discomfort.

"Oh," he said, seeing her smile and that only making him more nervous. "then I guess I'll just be happy I got to meet you!"

Her laughter was a magical sound that he thought made life worth living. He seriously was thinking about how to make her laugh again, soon.

"You are a smooth operator, Chuck!" she said, glancing at him again, all dimples and toothy grin.

"Yeah, that's me…a smooth operator," he said, chuckling anxiously and smiling back at her, dark curls escaping his Dodgers cap. "that's what my sister Ellie tells me anyway…".

"Ellie?" Sarah asked, "You have a sister? She sounds like she knows you well!" she said, smiling and glancing at him again.

"Yeah, Ellie's pretty awesome, and yeah, she does. She raised me from the time I was 9 years old, so yeah, I'd say she knows me as good as anyone." He said, his tone getting quieter, his gaze falling to his hands clasped in his lap.

"Chuck? Are you ok?" Sarah asked concernedly, she was slowing the truck now, turning into the dusty apron of the highway and angling into the parking lot of a low slung cinder-block building. The building looked, well, it looked old and dusty, but Chuck noticed that the trash cans on the gas island were empty, and the place had a sense of tidiness and respectability about it. The sign on the front of the building said "Second Mesa Hardware and Feed" in faded but neat lettering. The brakes squealed lightly as Sarah stopped the truck, just off to the side of the building. "Chuck?" She had taken off the sunglasses and was now giving him the full effect of those startlingly clear grayish blue eyes…the color of storm clouds over the ocean.

Chuck looked up at her with slightly guilty, almost remorseful look in his hazel eyes. "Yeah, I'm ok, just a lot of things going on…" he said quietly, then, like a sudden break in the clouds, a goofy grin lit up his face. "Hey! Is this where we're unloading? Do you think they have any Redbull inside? I sure could use a little pick-me-up." Reaching for the door handle he turned to ask, "Do you like Twizzlers? I love 'em, but I gotta be careful, me and Morgan almost overdosed on them the night Meredith Lester pantsed him in gym class…" He headed for the front door, still muttering something about a mustache being shaved off…

She was amazed at how he almost instinctively deflected and turned things around, as well as how quickly his mood could shift. She also noticed his messenger bag was in the floor and his duffel was still on the back of the truck, so she knew he was coming back. "Chuck" she shouted to his retreating back, "I'm going pull around back, just meet me out there when you get your drink, ok?"

He turned and gave her a quick thumbs up, then jammed his hands down into his back pockets, and literally _sauntered _to the front door, his long legs casually eating up the distance. That was how he had almost gotten away from her back in town. He had the longest legs…

She glanced at him again quickly before reaching for the flap of the messenger bag. "Jackpot!" she thought, spying his laptop lying inside the bag. Pulling a highly modified data retrieval unit from beneath the seat, she quickly plugged it into the usb port on the laptop and initialized the scan. Seconds later, the unit beeped twice and she unhooked it and returned it to her bag under her feet. Scanning the front of the store again, she put the messenger bag back like she found it, put the truck in gear, and started around back toward the loading platform. Backing up to the dock, she cut off the truck, marveling at the sudden quiet. The complete silence that you get on the high desert almost always unnerved her.

She could hear a country radio station playing inside, and stepped into the cool darkness of the store looking for Chuck. "Mr. Nez?" she called, stepping around the pallets of feed and fence wire that was stacked up in the cool, dark rear of the store. Getting no response, she pushed through the swinging door that lead out into the retail front of the store. She saw Mr. Nez, long sleeve shirt buttoned neatly at the neck, standing at the end of the counter watching something beyond her range of vision. She started to call again but something cautioned her to silence as she walked up behind the older man. As she rounded the end of the aisle, she saw Chuck, kneeling in front of a young girl wearing a simple dress with two long braided black pigtails hanging down her back. The little girl had been crying, but now was listening with rapt attention to what Chuck was saying, as he gently turned a doll over in his hands.

"Maria? Is that her name?" Chuck was asking the little girl, who nodded slowly as she watched him with her solemn black eyes. "Well," Chuck said very gently, "I think that Maria just needs a little Dr. Chuck emergency treatment just like this…" he said gently prying an access panel from the dolls back. He then produced a tiny screwdriver from somewhere (she certainly hadn't seen him carrying any tools!), and with a couple of practiced looking twirls of the screwdriver, and a quiet click as the panel snapped back into place, he said, "Ta-Da!" Gently placing it back in the girl's hands, he said "Try it now."

The girl very gently squeezed one of the dolls hands, and the doll responded "Mama, Mama" Her eyes lit up and she hugged the doll to her neck, only to suddenly reach out to hug Chuck tightly as well. "Thank you Mr. Chuck! You got Maria's voice back!"

Chuck looked up at them with a huge grin on his face, and as the girl stepped back and turned to go, he glanced at them with an almost embarrassed look and said, "I used to work in an electronics store, I think I've fixed about a thousand of those 'Mazing Mandy dolls…" he said deprecatingly.

Mr. Nez called out to the girl just as she reached the front door, "Susan, be sure to tell your Dad that the sweet feed he was asking about just got in." His voice was quiet, but very strong sounding for such a small, seemingly frail old man. He turned back to them, "Thanks to Miss Sarah here," he said with a gleam in his eye. "You know Miss Sarah," he said with a smile in his voice, "if I was 10 years younger.."

"10 years?!" laughed Sarah, turning to Chuck, who suddenly had a very strange look on his face, almost like a ripple of pain and confusion across his features…

"Are you ok Chuck?" Sarah asked, reaching out to touch his forearm.

"Uhhh, yeah, I'm fine," he said, shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs. ""I just get these, like icepicks in my brain. Do you ever have that happen?" he asked, pointing toward his temple with a rather wan smile on his face. Chuck had spied a Marine Corps insignia pinned to the collar of Mr. Nez's shirt, and had flashed, grainy images of war exploding across his mind. He turned and reached for the soda and candy he had piled on the counter, turning to Mr. Nez, how much do I owe you?" as he reached for his billfold.

Sarah turned and retraced her steps to the loading dock, intending to start unloading the feed she was delivering. As she stepped out onto the dock, she noticed a dark blue Crown Vic pulling off the highway towards the post office next door. Standing back in the shade she watched to see what was developing. A Crown Victoria in this part of the world only meant one thing…

She turned back toward the interior of the store, only to see Chuck come pushing through the swinging door from the front, only he was holding something up. "Hey Sarah! Guess what I got you? I saw it and just had to get it for you…"

He was smiling that huge smile and holding up a miniature hula girl, "You can put it on the dashboard of your truck!" he said exuberantly, "she's pretty like you, but tiny, and she dances!" He reached as if to hand it to her, just as she spotted the man from the Crown Vic walk in through the front of the store.

"Chuck, listen to me very carefully, don't freak out! Ok?" she said as she slowly pulled a large silver pistol from her waistband under her denim shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this took so long, but this little story honestly started out as a one-shot. That means I really hadn't thought out where it would go beyond a street corner in Winslow, Arizona. Anyway, I've written three different chapters trying to figure out what direction it could possibly take. I am taking a cue from a reader and I've continued to give Chuck a little darker (?), streetwise outlook, while trying to hold onto the wide-eyed innocence that makes the character appealing. I finally settled on the first version I wrote, which was actually the easiest and most fun, so from now on, I'm sticking with fun. With all of that all being said, I really would like to encourage you to leave me some feedback, and please don't hesitate to leave _constructive_ criticism. I am very grateful for everyone that's taken time to read and especially to those who leave a review (bowing deferentially at the computer), and so without further ado…(And no, it's not me either, I don't own Chuck…)

"Sarah, wh….?" Chuck gasped, his eyes jumping frantically from Sarah to "Copface", the man that he had spotted several times over the past weeks, who was now pushing purposefully through the same swinging doors he had just come through, ( the "thing" in his head had identified the man as Major John Casey, former Marine, NSA assassin, and all around bad dude). His brain was whirling about a thousand miles per hour as he looked from Major Casey to Mr. Nez, then back to Sarah again. As the model 5609 S&amp;W emerged from behind Sarah's back, the thing (database?) in Chuck's mind instantly scanned dozens of appropriate responses to the weapon, allowing for everyone's position in the room, and the weak points of the room's security. As Sarah's arm began to extend toward him, Chuck called toward Mr. Nez, speaking in a strange, lilting tongue, "**Acheii** , **niʼ** **jootłish** **tʼáá shǫǫdí!"**

Time, for Chuck, seemed to almost stop. As everyone else's actions seemed to slow as though moving underwater, his movements took on quickness and agility that he couldn't comprehend. He turned back toward Sarah, tiny hula dancer dropping to the floor, just as her arm was just beginning to extend toward him. His left hand reached for the barrel of her gun, and before she had acquired a target, his right hand gripped the wrist of her gun hand. Chuck's left hand had her finger trapped outside of the trigger guard as he levered her grip past the control point. As the gun slid into his left hand, he used his grip on her right wrist to pull her quickly and securely into his body, a long arm pinning her to him, her back to his front, his mouth close to her ear. "Don't freak out Sarah, but I have to point this gun at you," he whispered in her ear, "just trust me, I'm not going to hurt anyone." As inappropriate as it was, he was almost overwhelmed by her proximity and the sweet, clean fragrance of her hair, something fresh and impossibly citrusy that made his chest tighten and his pulse race.

Sarah herself was stunned at the rapid reversal of events, temporarily caught off guard by Chuck's surprising strength and quickness, and unsure of how he had so deftly gained the upper hand. Her first, instinctual thought was to elevate the situation, which had long been her specialty. Sarah Walker was an expert in bringing chaos into any untenable situation and that was often what Director Graham expected of her. Seeing Mr. Nez in her peripheral vision as he crumpled to the floor (according to the instruction Chuck had called to him in that strange, almost alien sounding tongue) though, and seeing John Casey striding around a pallet of barbed wire pulling a weapon from beneath his coat, she decided this once to try to talk things down. "Chuck…?" she quietly started to ask.

Speaking in a loud, firm voice over Sarah's soft tone, Chuck called across the room to Casey, "Stop right there!" he called, pointing the pistol at her head, his voice quivering some with a mixture of fear and excitement, "that's far enough!"

Casey, while he did stop, continued to pull and aim a well-used, but obviously lovingly cared for M1911A1 .45 Colt (_Call of Duty_ this time, not super-freaky computer) directly at Chuck's forehead. "Put down the gun Bartowski!" Casey thundered with a sneer. "You shouldn't be playing with the grown-up's toys, so just put it down and go get in the car. We'll be back on the interstate in an hour, and my day is done," he finished with a self-satisfied grunt.

Chuck slowly shifted the barrel of the weapon from Sarah's head to his own. "I- I don't think so," Chuck said, his voice full of tension. "I didn't ask to play your little game, I'm tired of being chased, and I think I'm going to change the rules starting now!" he said a little less than confidently.

"I know what you are here for, what _both_ of you are here for," he said as she tensed against him, "and it seems to me that as eager as you both are, _IT_ may be more valuable than you're letting on." He watched as Casey weighed his options, "Sarah, I know you think you already scanned my laptop, and even if you had, you wouldn't have found anything. The security I have on that computer is pretty solid. Also, my phone is set up so that anytime my laptop is opened or manipulated, I get a notification. Do you think I left my bag lying there in the seat accidentally? No wonder it's taken you guys almost a month to find me! Anyway, it's not on the computer, and it hasn't been deleted. What you're looking for is in my head."

He could feel Sarah's body stiffen as the realization of what he said sunk in, that he knew she had been lying to him, and he could see the look of confusion on Casey's face.

"That's not possible moron!" Casey scoffed. He glanced uncertainly at Sarah, then back at Chuck, regaining his momentarily lost composure. "They've been trying for years to get the Intersect into an agent's head and it hasn't worked, ever! Especially not in an idiot like you! Don't try feeding me that crap! Just tell me where you put the hard drive and I'll finish this for us all."

"Intersect? So that's what you call it? Well, are you sure about all that Casey? What if your "Intersect" IS in my head? What if I have all of your secret government…uhh…secrets, right up here?" he asked, tapping nonchalantly on his own head with the gun barrel. "How else would I know that most of your personnel file has been redacted, and that you weren't always Major John Casey? Or that you were given several secret commendations for your actions in Nicaragua, Afghanistan, and a couple other places that I've never even heard of? Or that Sarah here is Director Graham's wild card enforcer, that she operates almost completely off of the reservation, no pun intended, and that she's often referred to as 'The Ice Queen'?" He heard her gasp at that last remark, "Believe me Agent Casey, I could go on and on…"

Chuck let his comments sink in for a second as he saw a sly smile cross the wizened face of the "unconscious" Mr. Nez. "So, just how valuable is it? How valuable is _my_ brain, now that there's an_ Intersect_ in it?" Chuck asked, "Am I the only copy of-of this _Intersect_?" Chuck asked, still holding Sarah firmly, but feeling her still trying to gain any advantage as he tightened his grip. He was watching Casey intently. He now had the pistol held firmly to his own temple. "Major?" He slowly cocked the weapon he held and saw a glimmer of concern in Casey's eyes as he spoke. He knew he was on the right path and that in this little poker game they were playing, Casey had just blinked.

Quietly, he hissed in Sarah's ear as she continued to shift and squirm in his grip, "please trust me just a few more minutes…"

"Now Major, I'm gonna walk out of here with Agent Walker, and you are going to make sure that your fellow decorated Marine Corp veteran, and former WWII Navajo code-talker Mr. Nez there, is ok," he said, watching as awareness and alarm flared in Casey's eyes, "Semper Fidelis Major Casey, I know the code! Anyway, I have no reason not to end this right here. I didn't ask for any of it," he said anger rising in his voice, knuckle whitening on the trigger, "but I have what you're looking for, and you're gonna have to play by my rules for the time being. That means _you_ just need to drop _your_ weapon Major, and stand down."

"That's not gonna happen Bartowski, "Casey said with a smirk, "See, I'm perfectly fine with you offing yourself. If you hurry up, I can still catch the blue plate special at the diner up the road." Casey said offhandedly, rubbing his eyes tiredly, his pistol not wavering. "As a matter of fa…" he started, but a low moan from the slumped figure on the floor distracted him for a split second. That was what Chuck had been waiting for. As soon as Casey's attention flickered toward Mr. Nez, Chuck saw his chance. While Casey's gaze was momentarily distracted by Mr. Nez' moan, Chuck quickly fired and put two 9mm slugs just left of center in the agent's chest. As the impact carried him to the floor, Chuck immediately released Sarah and held her still smoking pistol out, dangling upside down from his trigger finger , the other hand held palm up in submission toward her. She immediately snatched the gun back from him and began to point it at him again.

Mr. Nez propped up on an elbow, grinning widely, "Did I do okay Chuck?"

"Mr. Nez, you deserve an Oscar award!" Chuck exclaimed," That was fantastic!" he said a huge grin spreading across his face. Stepping toward Casey, Chuck bent to start to search for the keys to the Crown Victoria, when Sarah interrupted, "Charles Bartowski! Hands on your head! You're under arrest for the murder of a federal agent!"

"WHAT?" he asked incredulously, head swiveling to look at her, brown eyes wide in disbelief, "No! No! I would never do that!" he said glancing toward the prone agent, then again back to her, "Casey's wearing a vest, he'll be ok, I promise." He looked at her eyes wide, then "Why would I do that?",looking at her questioningly. "I could never shoot anybody! That's awful! Why would you think that?" he asked sincerely.

"Chuck?" Mr. Nez asked quietly, "How do you know the words of the People?" he said, looking at him intently, dark eyes gleaming.

"Mr. Nez," Chuck answered quietly, speaking to him but watching Sarah, "It's really, really complicated, but I promise I'll come back soon and tell you all about, but right now…"

Sarah's eyes narrowed, her training telling her to subdue and restrain Chuck, but she also remembered his plea to her. "_Trust me_…" he had asked. She was struggling to decide when…

"Sarah, if we're going, we have to go now," he said insistently, holding up the car keys, an earbud, and the Major's watch which seemed to be more than a simple Timex. He glanced again at Casey who was beginning to stir and cough.

Sarah spoke again, "Chuck, I can't…I have to…" she began to say, but was interrupted.

"Sarah, all I'm asking is for is one night." Grabbing the pair of handcuffs off Casey's belt, he quickly hooked the thick wrist up to a water pipe running along the base of the wall. Turning back to her, seeing the indecision on her face, he continued to push the bluff he had been running. "Give me twelve hours, heck, give me two hours and I'll do whatever you want…I give you my word. Scout's honor!" he said, holding up three fingers toward her as he slowly stood. "Remember," he said, a solemn look on his face, "I very easily could've kept the gun and left without you."

Without waiting for an answer, Chuck looked again at the older man, "Mr. Nez, will Susan's father be able to get by with just one bag of feed for a day or two?"

"Oh yes, I'm certain that he will."

Chuck smiled again, "Great! I'll have the rest of this back to you as soon as I can. I'd unload it now, but…"

"You go ahead Chuck, I'll look after the man," Mr. Nez said, as Chuck helped him to his feet. The old Marine turned and stepped toward Casey who was still coughing and gasping for breath on the floor.

"Sarah," Chuck asked, turning back to her "Please? " Taking off the ball cap for the first time, he ran his fingers through the loose mop of crazy brown curls it had been holding in check. Looking at her, his eyes full of sincerity, "I'm really new at this, this…whatever it is, and I'm trying to figure out what's happened and why, and I just…I need someone to believe me, to trust me just this once, just for a little while…", twisting the Dodgers cap in his fingers, his weight shifting from foot to foot nervously.

"I just want to go back to the way it was before, before Bryce sent me a stupid email, before my sister hated me, before there were beautiful spies, and some not so beautiful," he said, glancing at Casey, "chasing me and pointing guns at me, and before…" sweeping his arms around the store room and looking steadily into her eyes, "all of this."


	4. Chapter 4

Moonlight through broken shutters cast a cold light inside the old building. His face, one that lit up when he smiled, was pensive and worried, and his long fingers drummed on the dusty window sill. He watched a military chopper circle, spotlight probing the darkness, probably thirty miles to the southwest of the mesa where they were waiting. It was far enough away, that even in the clear desert air, you almost couldn't hear the engines.

Chuck had said that they were waiting, but waiting implied a plan, and for the life of her, Sarah Walker couldn't see where he was going with this, or what plan he may have. While she was pretty sure that he was attracted to her (in her experience most normal men were) but it seemed almost an afterthought for Chuck. He honestly seemed to be concerned for _her_ welfare, for her well-being, not her looks. And after she had, well not lied, but she hadn't exactly been honest either, she had expected betrayal, anger, distrust, the usual feelings people get when they realize they've been conned. But he had repeatedly asked her if _she_ was going to get into "trouble" for not apprehending him immediately. He seemed truly concerned that she was putting her career in danger just for his sake.

He was the one being hunted like an animal, on the run and scared, but her welfare seemed to be his primary concern. She had never met anyone like him, ever. And he was kind of cute too, but there was no way that would ever be in an official report.

"Chuck, do you have a plan? I mean, I am amazed that we, that _you've_ gotten us this far, but they will never, ever stop looking, never stop chasing you."

"I know that, but we'll know for sure in about…" he paused, pulling his phone out to check the time, "4 minutes, what our next move will be." He looked over at her, a thin smile barely touching his eyes for just an instant. He actually seemed to be enjoying the cat and mouse game they were playing.

"Chuck please!" Sarah looked at him, trying to reason with him, "You know the longer you drag this out, the more pissed off the CIA is going to be. I'm going to have to take you in, and they're going to throw you in a bunker for the rest of your life! They were already not at all happy that you were able to avoid them for the past month."

His eyes were deep in shadow, but wan light gleamed on an almost wolfish smile. "Well then, they are going to be very, very pissed when they figure out that I've hacked their system. "

She looked at him, eyes widening, wondering what he had done. "What do you mean? What system? What are you talking about?"

He looked at her, then back out the window, that incandescent smile creasing his face, "Right on schedule…"

She glanced out the window just in time to see the distant chopper abruptly break the holding pattern and move off toward the far horizon.

"Chuck, what did you do?" she asked incredulously.

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside the church reached her ears. He reached his hand out to where she was sitting on an ancient pew, his smile at full mega wattage. "C'mon, our ride's here!"

Thirty minutes later, they were rolling vaguely eastward on a very secondary dirt road. "Chuck, talk to me. I can't help you if you won't tell me what's going on, where we're headed." They were driving someone's Jeep. A fairly new Jeep delivered by a large, handsome blond man that had hugged him, along with a grin and a "way to go Bro!" in a conspiratorial whisper when he saw her behind him. She had held her tongue until now, but now it was time to pin Chuck down. The two hours he had bargained for was long past, and although she was more impressed than she would ever admit with how he had handled things, it was time for him to start talking to her. She had trusted him further than she had trusted anyone in a very long time, but it was time. She had orders, and orders were what made Sarah Walker's world go around. She waited patiently, watching him in profile as he drove.

"Tell me what you meant when you said you had "hacked the system"? What system? And how did you get us out of there?" She was staring at him intently, an oversized flannel shirt given to her by the smiling blond man that had brought the car, pulled tight around her shoulders. "Right now, there are more resources dedicated to finding you than there were to get Khalid Sheik Muhammed put in a cell, so tell me exactly how you pulled that off." She realized that her voice reflected just how exhausted she was, she could only imagine how tired Chuck was.

At first he showed no reaction to her questions, he just drove through an eerie desert landscape lit brilliantly by a waxing moon. She started to wonder if she had imagined herself asking her questions, when, without even glancing her way, he began to speak.

"Sarah, I don't even know where to begin…"

Softly she prompted, "Maybe start at the beginning…"

Finally he glanced over at her, an almost shy grin on his face, "Well, the _beginning_ is a long way back…but 37 days ago, well 38 now," he said, glancing at the clock in the instrument panel. "on my birthday, I got an email from your partner, Bryce Larkin, who I haven't even seen in like five years, and who ruined my life the last time I did see him. Technically, he's ruined it twice now…"

"Did you open it Chuck? Did you open the email?"

"Of course I opened it! It said 'Happy Birthday! Why wouldn't I open it? Although, at first I didn't understand it. There was just a link to a game that we played while we were at Stanford. A game called Zork."

"Zork?"

"Yeah, it's kinda silly I know, but we were in college and…well anyway, I opened the email, answered a couple of questions from the game, and the next thing I know, I wake up hours later on the floor."

"Did you download the email attachment to a hard drive Chuck? Did you back it up anywhere?"

"No, I told you, it's all up here" he said pointing at the ball cap with the curly brown locks peeking out all over. "I woke up the next morning with the worst headache I've ever had. At first I thought I just had drunk too much at my birthday party or something, but I really only had a couple of beers. Then I started having these, well, "flashes". They were huge bursts of pure data; information downloads about things I didn't even know existed. To be perfectly honest, it scared the hell out of me." He glanced at her, not sure she would believe him. "After these "flashes" I would get nauseous and have a terrific headache. Sarah, I thought I was losing my mind." She could hear the sadness in his voice. "I barely slept the first few days; I couldn't talk to anyone, especially Ellie or Morgan. Ellie was already mad at me because Morgan slipped up and told her I had been hacking again, and Morgan hadn't been around because he knew I was seriously mad at him for blabbing to Ellie, although I should have expected it, and….aughhh…"

He slammed a palm on the rim of the steering wheel, then looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, it's just been a little overwhelming, you know?"

Quietly she asked, "So what did you do next?"

He looked at her a long moment, then back out the windshield into the desert night. Finally he turned back to her, "I ran."

He spoke in an almost flat tone and she felt the inevitable "burn the asset" guilt, guilt that a) he had been put in this situation through no fault of his own and b) that she was a part of what was tearing him apart. She was usually much better at justifying and compartmentalizing that, she thought to herself.

"So where did you go?" Sarah felt he was opening up; he just needed a little push. "In my experience, most people don't have a viable "bug-out" plan, an escape plan. I mean, you don't strike me as a person that would have spent a lot of time planning to make a run for the border!" She smiled, trying to get him to open up.

He smiled back a little self-consciously, and had a difficult time meeting her gaze. "I, uhh…well, I may have done some things, some _computer_ things, in the past… that, well, may have upset some people." He was unconsciously wiping the palms of his hands on his jeans, and trying to avoid her gaze. "I used to be, well I guess I still am, a pretty good hacker, and…"

"Hacker?" she interrupted, turning her body towards him, "Chuck, a computer hacker?" She was somewhat surprised at his confession.

"Yeah…" he said, his voice trailing off uncertainly, he glanced at her noting uncomfortably the hard look in her oh so amazing eyes. "You know, that's pretty much how Ellie said it when she found out, and she had almost the same look that you do now." He looked at her sheepishly, a small smile on his lips. "She wasn't happy about it either, but I never did anything bad, I just… "

"What Chuck? You just what? Talk to me, please! I can't help you if you don't…what are you doing?" She realized he was staring intently at the horizon, where she could just begin to see a faint blue flash, several miles ahead.

"Oh crap!" He immediately turned off the headlights and pulled off the right side of the road. They came to a stop and he switched off the ignition.

"Sarah, you asked me before how we got out of the CIA net earlier? Gimme a minute and I'll show you!"

Chuck stepped out of the Jeep, opened the back door and dug out his laptop. Rummaging deeper in the beat up messenger bag, he also retrieved a handful of what looked like aluminum tent poles, but much smaller. He booted up the computer and began assembling the rods in an array mounted on a compact base. He placed the finished assembly on the roof of the car, then connected it with a cable from the laptop. Fingers flying across the keyboard, he watched the screen intently, then made some minor adjustments to the mini array on the roof. With a satisfied smile, he began typing furiously again, waited a few seconds, then another burst, a final flourish, and a "Ta-Da!" he turned to see her watching him intently.

"Chuck, what did you do?" She was looking from the glowing screen to his face and back again, a tentative look on her face. For a second, Chuck forgot everything else and was absolutely captivated by the way the moonlight gathered in the loose tendrils of her hair. It swirled around her face creating a silvery gold halo. Blondes had never really been on his radar, but right now...

"Chuck?"

"Oh…what did I...?" Shaking his head slightly, "…oh yeah." Blushing furiously over getting caught staring at her, "Well, there's a roadblock up ahead, see the flashing blue?" He pointed at the horizon where she had already seen the lights. "Thankfully there are no helicopters! Not sure I could do anything if they had one of those! Anyway, right about…." Digging in his pocket, then looking at his phone, he waited just a moment, then almost to himself, "three, two, one… now!" He looked at the horizon expectantly. "They should be getting a communique from the FBI that we've, well that _ I've_, been apprehended in Flagstaff and to break down the blockade and head back."

He looked back at her again as the flashing lights subsided, a huge smile on his face, holding his hand up for a high-five, "And that's how we do that!"

His voice trailed off and his arm drooped as he realized she was going to leave him hanging. She stood with arms crossed, still with that look on her face. "This isn't a game Chuck. We have to get in touch with the CIA and figure out what our next step is. You asked for some time, and I've given it to you. Chuck, we… I mean you, you can't run forever."

"But Sarah, they're gonna throw me in a hole! I'll never see Ellie or Morgan again!" Chuck kicked the dust at his feet, and shoved his hands into his back pockets as he paced back and forth beside the highway.

"Chuck, I want to ask you to do something." She stepped in front of him, her hands on his forearms, stopping him from pacing. "It's kind of a big something, but I need you to listen. Chuck, I want, I need you to trust me. I know that's a big favor, but it's for your own best interest."

He looked deep in her eyes for a long, long moment, her touch radiating heat all through him, then glanced down at his toe twisting in the dirt. "Sarah, you asked me to trust you, but do you trust me?" He looked intently at her, "I mean, do you think I'm a bad guy?"

"No Chuck, I think you've been put in a tough situation that you've done an amazing job dealing with."

"Ok, then I have something to tell you…"

"Whatever you've done Chuck, I'll help you deal with it."

"I'm not sure that even you can help me with this." He spun on a toe and started pacing again.

"You have to trust me a little! I know we got off to a bad start, but I'm really on your side Chuck! Please let me help!"

He whirled to face her again. "You just don't know what I've done!"

"Chuck, it can't be that bad, what is it?"

"You know I told you I had hacked a system? Well this was one hell of a hack!" He had an almost maniacal look on his face now, "This is a hack they'll talk about for the ages!"

"Whatever it is, let me help you handle it."

"Sarah, you asked me before what system I had hacked? Well…" he turned and paced to the edge of the blacktop and turned to look at her, "I've hacked the Intersect! I've hacked my own brain!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I want to take a minute to thank everyone who has taken a few minutes to read this (People from literally all over the world, it's kind of hard to wrap my mind around that!). Also, thank you so much for all the reviews! It really motivates me when I get feedback! Anyway, on with the show, and please bear with me. This is the first of 2, maybe 3 chapters I need (I think) to work myself out of a little writing corner I've put myself in, but I'll get there eventually, I promise. I hope you stick around! and ps, still with the whole "I don't own Chuck" thing, you know the drill...**

The only sound was a faint breeze whispering through the desert scrub. She stood there in the brilliant moonlight just staring open-mouthed at him. He stood silhouetted against the white sand behind him, his hands at his sides, the immensity of what he had done, and had finally put into words, sinking in. "Sarah, I…" he started softly.

"No! What? You hacked the Intersect? You can't do that!" She started toward him, her first instinct to grab him or punch him, or… she stopped short and spun on her heel. Arms crossed to restrain herself from physically harming him, she turned again to face him. "What were you thinking Chuck?"

"I…."

"You weren't thinking that's what! You weren't thinking at all!" She refused to allow him to get in a word edgewise to defend himself.

"But…"

"No buts Chuck! That was not a smart thing to do!"

"Sarah I disagree!" He put his hands up, trying to sooth her obvious rage. "If you'll give me a chance to explain…"

"Explain?" Her voice was rising with her emotional state as she spun away from him, "There's nothing to…"

"Now just hang on just one darn second!" He stepped toward her, instinctually reaching for her elbow, when suddenly he was looking down the barrel of a very familiar pistol.

"Whoaaa! W-w-wait a second! Sarah?" He immediately stopped and put his hands up pleadingly. "What are you doing? We're just talking…"

"No Chuck, you were touching! You were touching right after you confessed to breaching the security of a highly sensitive, top-secret government project." She kept the pistol aimed center mass as he stood there, a confused look on his face. "Now I have a job to do, and Chuck, I need to know who else knows what you've done?"

"Who else…? What? Nobody! And technically I haven't touched…yet! And nobody else knows! Look Sarah…"

He took another few small, tentative steps toward her, hands still at shoulder height.

"Stop Chuck! Stop right there!" She gestured with the pistol, "I don't want to use this, but please believe that I will! Now, get on your knees, hands on your head! Now!"

Even while he was completely terrified by THIS Sarah, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was when she was mad, and how she was now completely in her element…he thought to himself _was it strange that he noticed how incredibly hot she was when he was this close to death?_

"Okay! Okay! I'm kneeling!" he said as she advanced towards him, handcuffs appearing in her off hand.

He dropped to the dirt beside the road, the gravel digging into his knees, his hands clasped on his head. "Sarah, please, just give me a chance to explain!" He looked up at her, fingers still laced across the blue LA ball cap. "Just five minutes and I'll go wherever you need me to go, I promise."

After a long very tense moment, she sighed deeply. "Fine, five minutes!" she said. She slowly holstered her pistol. She didn't use the cuffs, but she didn't put them away either. She stepped back as he stood, handcuffs dangling from a finger, her arms crossed. She looked pointedly down at her watch, one perfect eyebrow arched, then back at him. "Four minutes, fifty seconds left…"

"What? Ok, ok, look, after I opened Bryce's email, I had no idea what was going on in my head." He spun and began pacing, incredibly inappropriate black high tops kicking up dust. "I literally just walked around Burbank for two days, hoping that it would just stop, that this _THING_ would go away. I…I even considered ending it all." That caught her by surprise, she hadn't thought of how it had affected him physically, and she could hear the anguish in his voice. "I looked it up on WebMD…you know, what my symptoms were. I decided that I had a brain embolism or something and I was going to end up a vegetable." He was running on nervous energy now. He was literally wringing his hands. "I had no clue about what to do, and I couldn't tell Ellie." He had stopped pacing, but his head swiveled back and forth, alternately looking out into the distance then back at her. "I stood on the platform of the Metro Rail for over an hour one night." It seemed that suddenly all the energy went out of him and it was very quiet until he spoke again. "Sarah, I was gonna…" he sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to his toe unconsciously twisting in the dust. "but I couldn't do it." He was looking up at her now from under his brows, his face in shadows. "I kept seeing the look on Ellie's face when they told her what I'd done and I just couldn't do it."

He looked back toward her, but she wasn't giving him anything. Her arms were still crossed, feet still planted, her expression flat.

"So," he started again, coughing to cover the emotion in his voice then looking away from her, "I started noticing, that when I get these "flashes" that they were just images, and then…"

"Wait, what? What do you mean images?"

He felt a sense of relief wash over him when she finally spoke. Maybe she _was_ listening. He began again, his voice a little stronger. "When something triggers a "flash", it starts with a picture, or a series of pictures; a flower, a house, a typewriter, just images. I see a random image or picture, and then I, I don't know, I _feel_ the data. It sounds crazy, but that's how it works. Anyway…"

"But what kind of pictures? I don't understand."

"All kinds of pictures Sarah, it's completely random, but then…then I remembered taking Professor Fleming's classes, when I was at Stanford!"

"Who is Fleming? What does Stanford have to do with any of this?" She walked toward him, angling to look into his eyes, to see his face.

"Dr. Fleming, he taught psychology with emphasis on subliminal image recognition! HE was the guy, along with my former friend and your partner, Bryce, that had me thrown out of Stanford, just 12 credits short of graduation! The important thing though, the important thing, is that I ACED all of Fleming's classes! "

"Chuck, I'm sure that's important to you, but…" She was struggling to understand, to see where all of this was leading.

"No, that's not it Sarah! It was _embedded image recognition_! Don't you see? It's the technology that makes this, this Intersect work! The data's imbedded in the images! And I know how it all works! Well sort of…" Chuck was pacing again, waving his arms, his smile beginning to re-emerge as he relayed the excitement of realizing that this was just another puzzle to solve. "So anyway, once I realized what was happening in my head, I thought maybe I can figure out how to stop it, or fix it, or…I don't know, but I had to do something!" His smile was wider now, talking more to himself than to her. He stopped suddenly, turned to her and asked, "Do you remember asking me where I went? When I ran?"

She nodded, finding herself caught up in his energy as he worked through the telling of his story. "Yes, I remember."

"Well, I have a friend…"

"WHAT? What "friend" Chuck?" With all of her spy alarms going off at once, she found herself instinctually reaching again for her gun, and then realizing there was no one there to shoot. No one other than Chuck that is, who she realized had the annoying habit of effortlessly being able to get under her skin. Relaxing, her hand still resting on the butt of her holstered weapon, she asked in a quiet but intense voice, "What did you tell him about the Intersect? Did you say anything at all? I need the truth Chuck!"

"No, nothing, I didn't tell him anything…I haven't even seen him in months," he grinned triumphantly. "But I DO have a key to his offices, and the security code to get in!"

She looked at him blankly, "And?"

"And? And what?"

"And what does this have to do with the Intersect Chuck?"

"Well, this friend, we've done some hacks, and he has some seriously sweet computer gear. Some pretty big servers, some very impressive processors, along with a cot and a fridge, so…well, that's where I went." He stopped and looked at her, finally understanding what she was asking. "Sarah, all I wanted to do was to figure this, this _thing_ out! That's all. And for that I needed computer power, lots of it! I mean, in a lot of ways, this 'Intersect' is incredible!"

"Okay, so what happened then? Convince me you're not trying to con me, that this whole thing hasn't been an elaborate ruse to compromise me or my mission." Her mind went back to how gently Chuck had handled Susan, the little girl in Mr. Nez's store, and how Mr. Nez had seemed to trust him completely. Had he been playing her the whole time? "I am in a very shaky place right now Chuck. I need to know what you've done."

"Sarah, you asked me to trust you a few minutes ago, and I do, absolutely I do. Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you? When you passed me in town, as I stood there on the corner?" He had stepped very close to her, close enough that she had to look up to look him in the eyes. She didn't look up to very many people, especially when she was wearing boots. "I hadn't seen a friendly face in weeks, and you were just so, so…" his gaze flickered uncertainly, not completing the statement, "and for a split second I thought that…" he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, "that you were going to save me."

Hoping that the darkness hid the blush rising from his neck, he turned away abruptly, and began speaking over his shoulder. "Sarah, my life for the past five years, well, it hasn't been exactly what I had planned on it being. When I was at Stanford, it was all so simple, the possibilities were endless! I was going to be the next Bill Gates, retire at twenty eight as a billionaire. But since Bryce and Dr. Fleming had me kicked out, well, I've made a mess of everything." He stopped a few paces away and turned back to her. "I've hurt people, I've let Morgan down, and I've disappointed my sister." His voice trailed off into the night…

"Then this happened," he said, pointing toward his head, "and once I stopped feeling sorry for myself…" He stopped walking and jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Well, I, Uhh…well, I thought that maybe I could figure out how it works…and use it to help people, to _really_ help people. I mean how crazy is it that you can learn things without having to _learn it! _I bet Ellie could do amazing doctor things with this program if she just had access…"

"Chuck, she can NEVER, EVER know about this!" She was the one reaching for him now, grasping his arm and spinning him around so she could pin him with her stare. "Not only is this a national security matter, but you, your sister, and everyone you know would be in incredible danger!"

She wondered why just standing this close to him made her heart race, then turned away, only to turn back, "Chuck, there are people that would torture you, torture your family, anyone, just to have access to what's in your head!"

He looked at her again, his crooked grin growing, "Why Sarah Walker, if I didn't know better, I'd think you cared about what happens to me!" His smile was back, almost glowing in the darkness.

Ignoring what that smile did to her, she gave him another flat look and said abruptly, "Chuck, shut up and get in the car!" She spun on her heel, headed for the car, avoiding that stupid grin and wondering if she was really that easy to read. _Damn it Walker, get it under control! And get this asset back to civilization before something gets out of control!_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Thanks again for the great reviews and the support, it certainly motivates me to find time to wrestle with this thing I've (sort of) created! Please, please, please take a few minutes to review! If you don't let me know what you think, then I don't know if it's good or bad, and I wanna do GOOD! At least do right by Chuck, so anyway, throw me a bone, anything! Ok, enough begging! I think one more chapter to get us out of the desert and back to civilization, unless of course, we're going to a bunker...nahhh! We couldn't have that could we? Finally, and again, ad nauseum, I don't own Chuck, blah, blah, blah...**

She was driving again, only this time there was no mild flirtation, no easy banter, just a very hard look on her very easy to look at face. He tried not to stare, but the way the glow from the dashboard brought out the amazing curve of those cheekbones, and the way her mouth twisted to one side as she chewed her lip, deep in thought…

"Sarah, I...I know that you're way out on a limb here," his voice was low but clear in the silence of the car, "and I know I should already be in some government facility somewhere...Sarah? Where are you going?"

She had slowed, and circled the car around, tires crunching in the gravel of the roadside, then heading back the direction they had come from. She glanced his way, but remained silent as she straightened out and headed back into the darkness.

They drove for a few minutes with only road noise and the occasional thump as the tires passed over a patch or a seam in the road. Finally, a stern look on her face, she started, "Chuck, this isn't a game, and it isn't something for you to figure out…"

"I know, but…"

"Chuck, please don't interrupt, just let me tell you what's happening." She turned her head to face him, "_If_," she said, those oh-so-blue eyes locked in on him, concern mixed with trepidation, "if you're telling me the truth…"

"But I am…" he began to interject.

She cut a flashing look his way, and his objection died in his throat.

"…then we have a very serious problem. Chuck, do you realize National Security Agency is after you? Or why they're after you? The big guy you shot? Chuck, he's the NSA's _eraser_…" She was almost hissing at the mention of Casey. "He makes problems like you disappear, forever. He is an old school, cold-blooded killer."

"You know what Sarah?" Chuck sat up straighter and turned to look at her directly. "I am really tired, tired of the threats, tired of all of, of…all of this super spy…stuff! Let me tell you why it's going to stop, and you can call your boss, or Major Casey, or whoever, because they're gonna want to hear this. I spent about 10 days holed up with some of the most powerful computers outside of any _"official"_ 3-letter agency, and guess what?"

Sarah looked over at him and saw the Chuck that had so efficiently disarmed her back there in the store. She saw the same Chuck that put two bullets in John Casey's chest (even if he was sure Casey had on a vest). The way his dark eyes flashed in the dim light from the instrument panel, the firm tone of his voice and the resolute set of his shoulders not only cued her in that he was serious, this was a completely different asset she was looking at. She marveled again at his ability to be so strong and determined one minute, and so genuinely willing to sacrifice himself for someone else in the next.

He spoke into the darkness, his voice subdued now. "I was able to pull some very rudimentary hacks on this thing in my head! All the karate stuff back there at Mr. Nez's store? Not in your program, but thanks to my buddy Morgan's complete collection of Sonny Chiba and Bruce Lee DVD's," there was a wry smile on his face as he mentioned Morgan. "I was able to embed my own data and upload it into my brain. The move I pulled on you in Mr. Nez's store? The _Bourne Ultimatum_! It took me a lot longer to upload than Bryce's email took because of some formatting issues, but I'm just getting warmed up!"

He looked at her steadily, expecting a response, but when she didn't say anything, just continuing to chew her lip irresistibly and staring out at the highway, he continued.

"Do you wanna know what else I found odd about the "Intersect"? I could almost anticipate how it was coded. It was just all so familiar, but at the same time, different. I feel as though I _KNOW_ the code Sarah, almost as if I had written it myself. Does that make any sense?"

She was staring at him now, between glances at the road, looking at him as if he had finally lost it.

"I know it sounds crazy, because I wasn't able to actually see the actual coding, but I could almost feel it. When I "flash", it's almost like I can anticipate how the data will present…" He glanced at her and met her questioning stare. "I know…I don't think I'm explaining it very well, but the programming just feels very familiar, that's all."

Twisting the Dodgers cap in his hands now, he spoke again, quietly, refusing to look her in the eye.

"But do you know what the most important part is?"

She looked over at him, almost afraid of what was coming next.

The look on his face was grim, dark eyes staring out into the night, obscured by the deep shadows cast by the dashboard lights, and his voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I figured out how to delete it!" The look on her face was uncertain, turning into disbelief. "Well, maybe suppress is a better w…"

"What!" Sarah gaped at him, the car swerving slightly, belying the shock she felt. "You can't do that! That's all of the combined intel of all the major security and intelligence operations of the US government!"

"Yeah w-w-well…" he stammered, taken aback by the vehement reaction, but determined to continue, "_they_, or more correctly, your pal Bryce, sent it to _me_, and the way I look at it...well, it's kind of like "finders-keepers". He glanced at her in his peripheral vision, afraid to look at her directly. " Wanna know what else?"

She stared at him, wondering if the pressure of the Intersect was beginning to affect his sanity.

"Are you familiar with the sci-fi classic, "Dune"? No?" He smiled a tiny bit. "Well there's a theme in the story that fits this situation perfectly. "_He that can destroy a thing, controls it." _I'm paraphrasing a bit, but you get the gist." He finally looked at her a long moment, trying to see if she would argue with him, and wondering if she understood the reference. To his relief, he thought he saw a glimmer of acknowledgement in her eyes.

"I don't want to destroy it Sarah, mostly because I'm pretty sure at this point I'd destroy a good portion of my brain at the same time. At the very least it would cause huge amounts of memory loss along with a major personality shift, but…"

"But what Chuck? I'm not sure I like where this is going!"

"Really? _You_ don't like it? Well, I know exactly how you feel!" She could hear the anger and despair in his voice as he spoke. "I haven't liked one second of it! Not since the day _your_ partner dragged me into this!" He glared steadily at her, then guiltily dropped his gaze into his lap, "Well, maybe I've enjoyed some of the last day or so…"he said, a bit less forcefully, glancing at her again from the corner of his eye. His heart leapt in his chest when he thought he saw a ghost of a smile cross her lips for just a scant moment.

They settled into a slightly awkward silence with just road noise for company. Finally, he broke the heavy silence, "Sarah, I need to call Ellie, try to explain where I've been…"

Glaring at him fiercely again, she cut him off, "Chuck, you can't tell her anything! You have to promise me! It's the only way to keep her safe. You have to trust me on this, please!"

"But I have to tell her something!" A sincere plea was evident on his face. "I can't just leave her wondering if I'm even alive! Or if I've been kidnapped and living with a cult in South America or something!" He ran his fingers through his curls for about the hundredth time, sighing then dropping his hands into his lap, a gesture of hopelessness. "She will never stop looking, and if I know Ellie, she won't stop until she finds out something, probably someth…"

As she listened to him rambling, as she was discovering he tended to do, she wondered how such a simple operation had become so complicated. Less than four weeks ago the tall, lanky Chuck had simply been a file. A file that told her told her that the "target", one Charles Bartowski, was a loner (mostly), a Stanford dropout who the CIA and the NSA had suspected of involvement in illegally hacking government systems as well as computer espionage. Possibly guilty of crimes committed in the murky and nebulous world of cyber-crime. Amazingly, when the NSA sent their premier el-int team after this supposed hacker, he had disappeared. _Without a trace_. Without even a whiff of a trace. Like he never existed. And every trap they set, the "ghost" had sniffed it out long before they even knew he was on the scene.

Charles Bartowski was the only name they had ever turned up, besides the somewhat silly alias "Pirahna", for the elusive electronic scofflaw they were after. After months of electronic legwork and investigation, they had absolutely no proof the Mr. Bartowski was involved at all. It was simply the only name that had ever been turned up. After reading the file thoroughly, she had called the lead investigator, a guy named Sparks. He was exasperated and had admitted to her that he had never even gotten close. For the first time in 15 years, he was completely baffled. They weren't even positive that a crime had been committed; let alone being anywhere close to being able to name a suspect. Sparks even grudgingly admitted that he'd like to recruit this guy if he ever got a chance.

With all of that rolling around in her mind, she glanced again at her gawky, doe-eyed passenger, with his messy curls and goofy shoes, and wondered again if the world had gone completely insane. Unless he was a much better conman than she had EVER encountered, then he was exactly what he seemed to be, only even nicer somehow. And for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why she hadn't called in or why she had let things go on like they had. Looking back over the last couple of months, she felt like this was just a continuation of the sense of spiraling she had been feeling. Ever since Budapest, and that asshat Ryker, she felt things spinning out of control. And for Sarah Walker, out of control was unacceptable. Just as the bleakness threatened to over whelm her again, she realized Chuck was looking at her, disconnected words pinging on her consciousness…

"Sarah, are you ok?" He was looking at her, but somehow she felt that he was seeing more of her, more than she ever let people see. "Sarah?"

"Hmmm, yeah Chuck, I'm fine," she glanced at him, trying to deflect his attention. She had quickly realized that his earnest concern for her was as disconcerting as anything any enemy entity had ever done to her. She was confused and warmed at the same time when he turned his attention toward her, and she didn't understand it, and honestly didn't know what to do about it. "I just want to get things back on track and…"

"You mean turn me over to your bosses and get on with your next mission." He waited for some, any response. "Would that be with my old buddy Bryce?" The flat look he gave her wasn't accusatory, but there was a sense of sadness, even resignation in his voice.

Her head whipped around and those incredible eyes narrowed and speared him again, but it was pure ice and no small measure of despair that he was staring into this time, "Chuck," She turned her gaze forward, sighing quietly, then back to him, "Bryce is dead!"

"Wait, w-what? Bryce? No, Bryce, he sent me the email, he can't be…"

The look of confusion, pain, and something else, maybe regret on his guileless face, twisted her inside. He slumped back into the seat as though he had been punched, leaving her feeling somehow to blame. _Dammit! How did he keep getting to her?_

"Chuck, Bryce died sending you that email. It was the last thing he did, and I can't unders…"

Her voice cracked abruptly and she bit off her words and blinked a few times, tears threatening but she refused to allow _that_. She realized she had almost let herself go in front of the asset. _Christ Walker, get it back under control… _she thought to herself, willing the walls back into place.

After several long minutes with no sound but the tires humming over the asphalt, "I don't know why Bryce did what he did Chuck, and since he's not here to explain," her voice now was calm and matter-of-fact, "that means it's my job to control the damage, to contain whatever Bryce set in motion, and so far all I have is you."

She stared through the windshield, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to let him off the hook. She was trying desperately to put some distance between them, but deep down she felt like she was failing at that as well.

"Sarah," he began, quietly, hesitantly, "I'm sorry about Bryce, I really am. We were friends once, really good friends. And then, for some reason I doubt I'll ever know now, he betrayed me. He got me kicked out of Stanford and he turned my girlfriend against me." He glanced over at her, then back down at his hands, fidgeting with the cap in his hands. "He destroyed my life, b-but I still would never want him...you know." His voice faded into the darkness, sounding more lost and alone than she thought she had ever heard anyone.

After a deep sigh he began again, "Look," he said, rubbing his eyes, a haggard edge to his voice, "there's a place, a safehouse, about 30 miles north of here. We can go there, you can call in, and we'll figure out what happens next." He turned again to face her. "You gave me what I asked for, so I'll do whatever you need me to do. I don't want you to get in trouble over me."

He stared at the side of her face for a long moment, wishing briefly that he was back where his only problems were his crappy job, too many crazy brunettes, and not enough cheese balls to get through the director's cut of "The Evil Dead". He was so tired of running and he just wanted to stop. Mostly he just wanted to talk to Ellie, but that was looking like it may never happen, ever again. He wondered if Awesome would tell her about tonight, if she would wonder what happened to him…

Snapping out of his ever downward spiral, he realized that they were rapidly gaining on a smoking, lurching old pick-up truck, trash bags piled high in the bed. Loose paper and other unsecured bits trailed out behind the truck, scattering behind and littering the ditch along the highway. As Sarah pulled out to pass, he happened to catch a glimpse of the rusty license tag, hanging askew and held on by a piece of baling wire. Suddenly he could feel the thrumming sensation that announced a "flash". The image of the license transformed into an image of a badge, then a military style deployment, followed by a bleak picture of a sterile looking facility, obviously some sort of detention area. The surge pulsed through his brain, spasms of pain radiating down his neck, as always pushing him to the edge of consciousness.

"Sarah, we have a problem!"


	7. Chapter 7

She was watching him intently, there in the darkness with only a small sliver of dim light from the hallway casting shadows across his drawn features. His curly hair lay damp and lank against his skull. She had been watching the sheet, draped across his chest rise and fall very slightly for the last several hours. She checked her watch again for what seemed like the thousandth time, then threw her head back against the cool vinyl of the chair, wide blue eyes staring at the ceiling tiles. Finding no answers there in the random industrial patterns, she blew out a long soft breath, her frustration just barely contained. It took a great deal of her inimitable willpower to not call the "doctor" back every 5 minutes to grill him about the test results, or lack thereof.

The overriding question that had kept her mind twisting throughout the night though, was why? Why did this asset, this ...mark, Chuck, have her on tenterhooks about his welfare. And WHY had he done such a foolish thing to get him here? Didn't he care what happened to him? And to do something so crazy, with no consideration for his own well being? And for Casey no less...Casey would have let him die there beside that nameless road in a forgotten desert without a moment's hesitation. She had known Charles Bartowski less than 24 hours and still she couldn't fathom what hold he had on her, or what in the hell was driving him!.

She grimaced when she realized that she had again bitten the inside of her lip until it bled. She cursed silently at the familiar taste of blood...

She started out of her reverie at the sudden flurry of muted barks and mews from the back room of the building, triggered by the door from the reception area of the veterinarian's office opening quietly, then clicking solidly back into the frame. She rose from the chair as padded footsteps approached. The door pushed inward, just enough for a rather large John Casey to stick his head in. He gazed steadily at the figure on the bed, then turned his eyes toward her. He ducked his head slightly, nodding toward the figure beneath the sheet, "How is he?", he asked quietly.

"No change." She looked at Casey, again at the figure in the bed, then back. "Is the doctor back yet?" she whispered. Realizing her fingers were unconsciously twisting together she forced herself to separate them, glancing at them briefly as if they belonged to someone else.

"Nnhh…" was his only reply, eyes cutting from her back to the bed.

She took the grunt as an affirmative and shoved one wayward hand deep in a back pocket, the other brushing a loose strand of golden hair behind an ear, then shifting her weight to lean loosely against the bed frame.

Her gaze honed in on Casey, a million questions running through her mind, but then, just, "Casey, what are you still doing here?"

The last word she had was that Casey would chopper back to LA to begin arranging Chuck's...the asset's, future situation. A part of her wanted to grill him for more details, but a larger part of her shied away from what she knew was in Chuck's future.. Chuck had worked so hard to stay out of the government's grasp, to battle what he had had no voice in, so she wasn't sure exactly how he would respond to knowing now that his run was over.

"Beckman wants another update in an hour," glancing down briefly at his watch. "Then I'm out of here." He stared at her a moment. "What about you?" With thinly disguised contempt he asked, "What's next for the great Agent Walker? I'm sure Graham already his "enforcer" on the next jet to Jakarta, Dubai, or wherever they need...somebody like you!."

"I don't know," she gestured somewhat vaguely, ignoring his jibe, "Graham wasn't available earlier, but I'm scheduled for a de-brief at oh six hundred." She straightened and turned back toward the chair. "I'll hang around here until the doctor gets back I guess. Make sure he's ok, that Chuck's okay…" She found herself again standing by his bedside, and had to check the urge to push a wayward lock of dark curls off his forehead. She abruptly turned back to Casey, fixing her face with the deadpan demeanor that he expected from "The Ice Queen". She really didn't want John Casey, of all people, to think she had anything beyond professional interest in the mission.

"Casey, have you heard anything more about Mr. Nez?" Casey's blank stare accompanied by a non-committal grunt prompted her to change her tack. "Well, have we gotten any info from the agents we, or that Mr. Nez captured? Do we know who they work for?"

"No, nothing yet," Casey remarked quietly, then glancing back at her.

"Walker?" his steely glare pinning her, "why do you think he did it? What was the moron thinking?" The stone wall that was an inimitable John Casey was showing a very small crack. She turned toward the window, once again rerunning the events of the previous night in her mind before she replied quietly, "I wish I knew Casey, I wish I knew."

Her mind was trying to reconstruct what had happened just a few hours ago. She distinctly remembered Chuck saying to her, "Sarah, we have a problem!", an undercurrent of panic in his voice.

Looking back, it seemed like such a huge understatement. She had been passing an old truck of indeterminate origin, full of trash and debris, when Chuck stiffened, his eyes fluttering uncontrollably, and then making his statement in a weary but urgent voice. She started to question him further, when suddenly, from the left side of the road, headlights exploded into her vision, blinding her. Instinctively she knew the lights were far more powerful than standard high-beam headlights, they had to be military grade to burn so brightly. She swerved right automatically to avoid the surging vehicles from the left, realizing too late that she had nowhere to go. The glistening spikes set up across the blacktop blew all four tires almost instantly, pieces of what used to be their tires thudding into the undercarriage as the Jeep slewed violently toward right hand ditch. Only hours and hours of evasive maneuver training allowed her to keep some semblance of control. When the dust settled, the car was surrounded by agents in black, weapons at port arms, flashlights blazing into her eyes. As she pushed back the deflated air-bag, John Casey's visage had filled the driver's side window, big right hand pointing a huge black pistol at her head, his left snatching the door ajar violently.

"Hands up Walker! I really, really want an excuse to send you to see your boy toy Bryce, but Beckman wants a word with you. And oh yeah, I also understand Graham"s panties are in kind of a twist too…" he snarled with entirely too much satisfaction.

Another agent, one even larger than Casey if possible, was manhandling a groggy Chuck out of the passenger side door. Slamming the lanky young man against the Jeep brought a sharp response from her, blue eyes flashing dangerously, "Hey Mongo! Ease up on my asset or I'll make you wish you were still rinsing out jocks back at the Farm!" Without waiting for a response, she turned her attention to Chuck, "Are you ok?" Noticing his somewhat unfocused gaze, she snapped her head around to glare at Casey, "Tell your goon to ease up, he's not a threat and you know it!"

Casey responded by twisting her arm a little tighter behind her back, making her wince. "For one thing, he's MY asset now, and for another, I not only KNOW he's a physical threat, I think he's a threat to national security! I only have to get shot once to learn!"

"Sarah…?" Chuck's voice was disjointed, groggy.

"Chuck, are you ok?" She stopped struggling against Casey, trying to get a read on what Chuck was mumbling about.

"Sarah, the truck we passed…"

"Chuck, I know…"

"No Sarah, the truck isn't part of this, it's something else"

Casey shook her like a rag doll, growling at her, "What the hell are you two gabbing about?" Glancing across the hood of the Jeep, he motioned with the deadly barrel of the .45 he was brandishing for the mountainous agent holding Chuck to drag him closer.

"Bartowski! What in the hell are you talking about? What truck?"

Chuck's eyes bounced back and forth between the two agents for a moment, "Sarah, the old truck, the one we were passing when this...well, it wasn't CIA or NSA, it's, it's something else, I'm not sure...but it's not good."

"What kinda crap are you rambling about idiot? There isn't any 'old truck' out here."

The guttural query was barely out of Casey's mouth, when red laser dots began dancing across the chests and foreheads of the four black clad agents that were accompanying him. Steady red dots also painted themselves on Casey and Sarah, too steady to question their validity.

A voice rang out from the darkness, an oily voice, heavily tinged with sarcasm. "Agent Casey?" The voice was calm and contained. "Thank you so much for leading us to the Intersect! If it wasn't for you, and of course the beautiful Agent Walker as well, we may have had to resort to some rather...hmmm, drastic measures." The mocking tone of the voice coming out of the ink black night had everyone's hackles on edge.

"Now, if you would be so kind as to release Mr. Bartowski, and step away from the vehicle, than I assure you that this entire incident will be relatively painless."

As Casey and Walker both tried to get a grasp of who, and how many assailants they faced, each calculating their next move, a lone individual stepped out of the darkness. The harsh light of the headlights cast a foreboding shadow across a deeply scarred face. The man seemed to be unarmed, hands clasped lightly behind him. He gestured almost daintily toward Chuck to step away from the hulking agent that had been holding him pinned to the Jeep.

"We have been aware for some time of your efforts to download the Intersect into an agent, and I see you have finally succeeded! Thank you so much! This will save us untold expense," and casting a conspiratorial eye toward Sarah, "and who knows, if we had found you a month ago, Bryce Larkin may not have had to die…."

Reaching out and casually taking control of Chuck from the huge agent, he turned and again looked at Casey, ignoring Sarah, the laser sights stippling the big agent's chest and face. "I am sure you will do nothing foolish to endanger your team Agent Casey. As you can see, my men have everything well in hand." Casey could see the red pinpoints of light on each of his own team members, but as yet hadn't tracked the sources in the darkness.

The newcomer held Chuck's arm just above the elbow guiding him toward the pair of familiar agents, an insolent smile on his scarred visage. Sarah watched the entire event, arm twisted painfully behind her, eyes wide, waiting for an opportunity. There was always an opportunity. She was Sarah Walker, the Ice Queen. Chaos and mayhem were, after all, her forte'.

Casey seemed to be waiting as well, muscular frame tense and coiled, but things seemed to be slipping away from them both. Chuck was in shock, almost completely unaware of what was happening. The scarred interloper was holding him up, as Chuck's feet seem to be dragging and tangling on each other. Just as they stepped in front of the vehicle, a weird, keening sound echoed out of the inky desert night. The wailing faded away, only to be replaced by voice coming from nowhere and everywhere, all at once, "Charles, **ni****ʼ** **jootłish** **t****ʼ****áá**** sh****ǫǫ****d****í****!****"**

The seemingly dazed and hooded eyes of the "asset" sharpened into the distance, then immediately back to where Casey stood, Sarah still in his formidable grasp. With a sudden spin that brought his opposite elbow crashing into the temple of the unknown man, he yanked free of the now loosened grip on his arm. Sarah's move mirrored his own almost identically. The roar of a loud muffler and a sudden blaze of headlights pinned Casey and Sarah in a vector of lights with nowhere to go. Just as the truck exploded into movement, tires squealing, engine howling, barreling straight toward the two, Chuck broke like a sprinter toward them.

Time seemed to slow down once again. He was moving at normal speed, but everyone else seemed to be struggling against an invisible force, making it seem as though they were hardly moving. He could hear strange noises as well. A separate soundtrack. Ill-tuned guitar strings being plucked, and wet sounding thuds, all beneath the screaming agony of the old truck's drive-line. He could also hear the hollow "pop" of gunfire, and panicked shouting echoing all around him.

He tucked his head, shoulder down, his feet churning and driving him forward. "Major Casey!" he shouted. He was hoping to hit the NSA agent in the midsection with a shoulder, and still be able to collect Sarah with the other arm as he drove them out of the path of the truck. He needed Casey to focus on him and not move until he reached where they stood.

The truck was moving inexorably across the blacktop directly toward the trio. He thudded into the solid weight of Casey's gut and felt his off hand connect solidly with Sarah's midsection. Legs still pumping, the shrieking of the truck engine filling his mind, pushing all else aside, he shoved Sarah clear with his left hand, and with his right shoulder, bulldozed Casey beyond the truck's path. Casey stumbled backwards landing squarely on his ass, Sarah spinning off into the darkness. But, as powerful as the Intersect was, it was no match for physics.

Casey and Sarah both heard the solid "THUD" as the rusty left fender of the truck caught Chuck's left hip, clipping him crazily into the air, limbs flailing, until he slammed back to the ground, his boneless pirouette making even Casey's hardened sense of pragmatism flinch.

The truck continued straight ahead, slamming into the ditch, engine roaring in protest as the tires struggled to overcome the impossible angle of the truck. Abruptly,l the engine just coughed and died. The silence was complete, the madness of the previous seconds suddenly spent, dust swirling silently on the desert breeze.

Sarah remembered scrambling suddenly to her feet, a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stared at the crumpled form, arms and legs akimbo, face down in the loose sand and gravel of the roadside. "Chuck?" she said quietly at first, then more intensely, "Chuck!", running, then skidding to a stop over his unnaturally still form. Squatting along side him, slender fingers reaching automatically to feel for a pulse, she visibly slumped as she felt the slow, steady thudding of the artery in his neck beneath her light touch. Quieter now, she's almost whispering, "Chuck? Can you hear me? Chuck!"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Sorry for the delay, its been a crazy summer. Let me know what you think, if it's worth chasing this rabbit down the hole...also, still don't have any rights to "Chuck"

Ellie was sitting on top of him, glaring down at him, her long, wavy chestnut hair framing a very serious look on her face. Her knees were on his chest like when they had still been kids, but for some reason she weighed a lot. Like a crazy amount. He was completely paralyzed. She was crushing him deep down into the mattress. He was trying to push her off but she continued to waggle her finger at him, hazel eyes burning into his own, "Chuck! I'm worried about you! It's not like you to disappear and not call. We have rules you know!"

He was trying to explain, trying desperately to apologize and tell her exactly how and why he was in big, BIG trouble, and how he had met this incredible woman that he couldn't stop thinking about, but he couldn't seem to be able to draw a breath. He wasn't able to push her away or to move his legs enough to try to shake her off. Nothing seemed to work, and then strangely,he realized it wasn't Ellie, but his father sitting on him. He wore faded jeans and a rumpled chambray shirt, a cock-eyed half grin on his careworn face. He leaned down until they were almost nose to nose, his Dad's hand ruffling his hair, "Remember son, you're special!"

Then, oddly, a long time later it seemed, it was just dark. Not totally dark, but dark. Dark enough that he wasn't sure where he was, or even if he was still dreaming, if indeed he had even _been_ dreaming. It was all very confusing. Was the thing in his head, this "Intersect" doing something to him? Driving him insane? His heart was thudding heavily in his chest now, and he heard a strange groaning noise. He considered that for a bit, wondering where it was coming from. Suddenly, shocked, he realized that HE was making the noise. He had never heard himself make this kind of noise, so it was disturbing to hear this disjointed moan that seemed to go on and on.

Just as he felt the anxiety really begin to take over, another vision appeared, a different kind of vision. A vision that smelled nice, kind of citrusy, a vision with soft, warm hands. One reaching for his own hand, the other stroking his forehead, brushing back wayward curls. She was leaning over him now, blond hair brushing against his bare shoulder. Blond? Who did he know with blond hair?

Ellie, of course was a brunette, and besides, she'd be a LOT more intense if it had been his sister leaning over him. Jill had dark hair as well, but she's been gone so, so long now. Lou from the deli? Also a brunette (_and also a little crazy_), or maybe Hannah? Hannah was sweet, gentle, like the figure above him, but again her hair was much darker than this...and why was his chest bare? Where were his clothes? Was he naked? WHY was he naked? And when did he start having to keep girlfriends straight? Where did all of these women come from? Women, especially ones as pretty as this didn't hang around with Chuck or Morgan, especially if Jeff or Lester were anywhere close by..

"Chuck?" she called softly, "Chuck, can you hear me? Chuck?"

A face slowly began to appear in front of him amidst the halo of blond waves. A beautiful face, eyes wide, full of concern. Slowly he was able to begin to focus on that face, on those eyes, those stormy blue eyes, and dimples, and... Her voice soon merged with the vision floating above him, coalescing into something he could focus on. Something that somewhat made sense. Her warm touch on his forehead, fingers brushing through his hair, soothing, calming.

"Chuck, it's ok. Do you remember anything?"

He was gradually taking in her features, trying to put the pieces together when a name popped into his still foggy brain…"Sarah?" His voice was faltering, but getting stronger. "Is that you Sarah? What are you doing here?"

"Shhh...relax Chuck. Yes. it's Sarah. How do you feel? Are you in pain?"

He stared at her for a long moment, her words not really registering on his still foggy mind.

"What? Why would I…."

As her words begin to sink in,he started trying to rise, pushing up, struggling to sit. An immediate and blinding pain knifed through his body, his entire left side from armpit to ankle screaming in protest, searing into him. He fell back immediately, the air rushing out of his lungs in a whoosh, another anguished groan escaping his lips. .

"Chuck! Lie still! Let me get the doctor!" Sarah stood, her hand lightly on his chest, keeping him from trying to get up, while her head twisted toward the door, calling toward in an urgent tone.

"Casey! Bring the doctor, hurry!"

"Sarah? You can't be in here! I don't think I have on any clothes under here!" His voice was still weak, his eyes widening as he began to realize the situation.

He was aghast at the notion that he was nude beneath the rather thin _hospital_? blanket. He gathered the sheet, rather feebly, and pulled it tightly beneath his chin, wondering where he was.

She smiled unconsciously, not sure if he was joking, serious, or if there was some, so far undetected, head trauma.

"Hey!" she said with a small, sideways smile, "I promise not to peek, ok? But I'm not leaving you until the doctor gets here." She wasn't sure how to proceed, but in the face of her determined look, he finally nodded a bit and mumbled a rather petulant, "Fine".

"Chuck?" she started hesitantly. He was staring at her now, looking a bit confused but trusting. "Ummm…"

"Yeah Sarah?"

"Do you know a man named Nicholas Quinn?"

"Who?"

"Nicholas, Quinn, do you recognize the name? Do you _know_ him?"

"No, who is he? Should I remember him?" The anxiety was threatening to return, his voice jumped another octave as he asked, clutching at her hand, "Do I have amnesia? Please! You'd tell me if I had amnesia wouldn't you?"

"No Chuck, I don't think you have amnesia." She realized she was unconsciously stroking his hand, then quickly pressed his hand back to his chest, stepping slightly away from him. "Do you remember anything about the truck? The old truck we passed, just before, before…"

As she struggled for the words to jog his memory, to see if he could recall whatever it was he had called her attention to, a strange aroma began to pervade the room. She glanced around, eyes sweeping the entire room, but coming up empty.

She began to detect an odor, something like woodsmoke from far away, drifting on a soft fall evening. A little sweet and intense, sage-like, without being at all cloying. Almost more of a memory of such a thing than an actual aroma. Still turning, trying to find the source, she realized the light in the room was changing as well. Not that it was getting lighter or darker, but _bluer_? somehow. Her hand went to her hip, instinctively gripping the butt of her Smith &amp; Wesson, comforted by its heft on her hip, thumb on the safety as she turned again. She glanced toward the door, eyes still tracking, searching. Her internal alarm bells going off like mad now, her training screaming at her to do something, anything! Panic began to ramp up her adrenaline, but suddenly all she wanted to do was sit down. Right here, right now.

She started to crumple, and even as she slumped,was wondering how, whatever this was, had gotten past Casey. A pair of strong but gentle hands caught her firmly by the shoulders, and she felt herself almost carried and then gingerly deposited in the cracked vinyl chair where she had been keeping her earlier vigil.

Her hand was gently pried away from the butt of her gun, the weapon then easily released from it's holster by the same lean, capable looking man. He was wearing worn jeans, ancient cowboy boots and a long sleeved, printed shirt buttoned to the neck. His face was deeply tanned and lined, but showed no malice, no distress, nothing.

After expertly releasing the magazine from the handgun and ejecting the round in the chamber, the gun was laid down on the small, scarred side table where it was well within her reach. The magazine was put next to the pistol, nimble fingers placing the now impotent bullet at attention beside the magazine, ready to return to the breach.

She was watching Chuck again, his curly hair making strange shapes in the dim, bluish light, only this time she was completely powerless to stop whatever was happening. Chuck, on the other hand had seemed to have fallen asleep again, his countenance peaceful, his breathing even.

Another man came in, as lean and dark as the first, also wearing worn, but neat clothing. This man was wore a battered, plain straw Stetson cowboy hat pulled low, almost hiding his face. He stepped across the room to check the that the curtains were pulled tightly, then took a post opposite of the first man, on the other side of Chuck's bed. The raven black hair of both men was pulled back into a tight braid that hung between their respective shoulder blades, stark faces reflecting thousands of years of sun and sand. Motionless, their calloused hands hanging by their sides, they waited, hooded black eyes giving nothing away.

Sarah felt completely disconnected, as if this was some weirdly realistic dream or some manner of hallucination. She was completely aware, but unable to move even a fingertip. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she struggled to break the bonds of whatever they had used to incapacitate her.

She had been trained by the best, had _beaten_ the best, and she'd be _damned_ if she was going to let something happen to Chuck, to _her_ asset on _her_ watch. The problem was, none of the tricks worked. None of the conditioning she had been put through was helping. Again she wondered where Casey was…

"Miss Walker," the voice came from the open doorway. "Please relax. Mr. Casey is perfectly fine, and you will be also. Very soon. As soon as I can help my young friend here."

The men standing beside the bed stepped back, the latecomer removing the straw hat, his hands kneading the worn brim. Meanwhile a man that looked an awful lot like Mr. Nez stepped into the small room. She knew it had to be Mr. Nez, but the kindly old hardware store merchant was gone now. This man didn't wear the neatly pressed jeans and string tie she had grown accustomed to seeing him in. Now he wore a collarless black velvet shirt, his chest broad and strong, even with the years he carried. He wore printed cotton breeches and deerskin, knee-high beaded moccasins. A simple shell necklace hung about his throat, and a silver studded leather belt was looped off his shoulder, holding a small doeskin pouch at his waist. More than anything else though, a proud, fierce light burned in the old man's dark eyes. A simple blue bandanna was knotted across his forehead, and his silver hair gleamed in the dim blue light that she found so disconcerting.

This man was the **hatáli,** the Windtalker, the spirit guide, the medicine man. After a nod from the two men flanking Chuck's bed, he turned to her, his voice quiet but resonating.

"Miss Walker, I intend to drive the pain and injury from my young friends body. I can heal the physical body. I can make that part of him whole again." He squatted down next to her, the old man moving with a fluidity that belied his years.

"But you Miss Walker, you are the one to heal his soul, the beacon that will lead him back into the light that he has been driven out of..." A weather worn hand reached out to cover hers, thick, strong fingers with squarely cut nails.

"You already know what is expected of you, even if you refuse to admit it." Now he took her hand in both of his. "You can walk away, and I will still heal his body, but without you to lead him, to protect him, he will never be what the spirits have planned for him to be." He watched her intently. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

His dark eyes burned into her, through her, daring her to deny the truth of his words. She amazed herself when she was able to nod her head freely, with no resistance. She wasn't even sure what she was agreeing to. Or that's what she told herself.

The old man's gaze sliced right through all of her defenses. She felt as though he knew everything about her, everything she had tried so desperately to bury deep in her past.

He knew the awful things she had done. The things she loathed about herself. She hadn't felt this exposed since that day long ago, when Graham had handed her knife back to her, and in doing so, had started her on the path that lead precisely to this moment.

Then a gentle smile broke across his face, dispelling the somber moment. He patted her hand as though reading her very thoughts. "Sarah," this was the first time she could recall him using her given name. "Sarah, for the first time in a very, very long time, trust your heart, not your training." He stood then, releasing her hand, still speaking quietly. "You are so much more than you give yourself credit for."

He turned away from where she was seated and toward the bed where Chuck lay. She heard a low humming, a rhythmic chant beginning to emanate from the old man, but it seemed far, far away, and getting further. She wanted to see what was happening, but her eyelids betrayed her. They became so incredibly heavy, and as the chanting faded almost completely she thought, "If I just close my eyes for a second…."


End file.
